Like a lot of other people here, I have a “C” parking permit, and for the rest of you who have one I say this: You’re taking my spot.

Well, maybe it’s not you, but someone sure as hell is, because I cannot for the life of me find a space on campus between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m.

Take Tuesday, for example. I was feeling a little logy, so I decided to head over to SPAC for a nice little workout at 11:30 a.m.

Thing is, the parking lot out front was full. And so was the adjoining lot next to Lakeside Field. And the next lot over, the one in front of the Allen Center. And the lot between Swift Hall and Garrett. And Lincoln Street. And Kemper.

Not one spot.

So finally I find a Yugo-sized patch of bare pavement a block north of Patten Gym and wedge my car in there like a greased fat man sliding into a seat in business class. Then I walk six blocks and start my workout 20 minutes late.

Maybe I couldn’t find a parking spot because I had bad luck. Or maybe it’s because there are four mammoth construction trailers spread out in front of the Allen Center like greased fat men at the beach across what looked like at least 50 parking spaces.

Which brings me back to my day. I walk the six blocks to get back to my car and drive to South Campus to make my 1 p.m. class at Harris Hall. I pulled into the parking lot across from Fisk Hall with time to spare. It was completely packed.

I spent the next 15 minutes screaming, and during the breaths in between screams I considered selling my soul for an “F” permit.

And after exhausting every known variation of the phrase “you darn poopy-head,” I found a spot on Davis Street and Judson Avenue and walked six blocks to Harris just in time for class. If class started 20 minutes late. Oh, on the way over I paused to stare at the fenced-off dirt pit that has eliminated 30 spaces behind Fisk.

I’m not sure whose extraordinarily dim-witted idea it was to coordinate 70 different construction projects – two of which have caused my steering wheel irreparable psychological trauma – so they would all take place at once, but it was pretty damn dim-witted.

One day years from now whole classrooms of techies can have an orgasm looking at the freshly laminated periodic tables in the new chemistry building, and hordes of TV majors can practice in front of big, shiny mirrors in the new broadcast building.

But I can’t park on campus. And I want to. Now.